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./EVIL THAT MEN DO LIVES AFTER THEM 

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THE EVIL THAT LIVES AFTER ME S» 

MAY BE MY RHYiMES fid S2S 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap... Copyright No.. _ 

Shelf„_i__^<^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



%ovc nnb Xaugbter 

Being A Legacy 
of Rhyme 



BY 



3ame0 (5. Burnett 



PUBLISHED IN NEW YORK & LONDON 

BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

1895 



DEC 2 



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5 



Copyright, 1895 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

Entered at Stationers', Hall London 



Ufoe Ifcnfcfeerbocfter jpress, IRew Iftocbelle, 1R. 



PREFACE AND SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 

In other years, long passed away, it was my privilege 
to number among my friends that winning gentleman and 
versatile and accomplished actor, Mr. James G. Burnett, 
whom persons familiar with theatrical history will re- 
member as an excellent representative of humorous old 
men and of eccentric characters in general. He died in 
1870, leaving a widow and two sons, the eldest of whom 
was the author of the verses which have been collected 
into this volume. I have been asked to write an intro- 
ductory word, indicative that this is a memorial book, 
and expressive of the motive that has prompted its publi- 
cation. 

There is but little to be said. It is the old story, of a 
life of rich promise, blighted almost at its beginning ; of 
buoyant and radiant youth, suddenly summoned from 
the threshold of achievement and enjoyment ; of mental 
power, moral worth, hope, ambition, and happiness dark- 
ened, defeated, and extinguished by early death. The 
annals of literature abound with records of this sad order : 
the libraries are almost as thickly strewn with relics of 
youthful talent prematurely destroyed as the beaches are 

iii 



IV PREFACE AND SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR 

with shells and pebbles when the receding tides have left 
them bare. To youthful eyes such anomalies of experi- 
ence seem altogether disastrous, deplorable, and without 
compensation ; but those observers for whom the evening 
of life is drawing near are able to see widely, and, if not 
to understand, at least to feel, that in the mysterious or- 
dainment and conduct of human destiny there is a larger 
kindness and wisdom than that of man. The only possi- 
ble comment is the comparatively trite one, that there 
must be a wider scene than this world, wherein the hopes 
inspired and the purposes fore-shadowed here are an- 
swered and fulfilled. The author of this book was more 
brilliant and auspicious than anything that he has written ; 
he died before his mind had in all respects matured, and 
before his distinctive literary work had been completely 
begun ; and this selection from his fugitive writings is 
published by the mother who dearly loved him, — and 
whom he dearly loved and deeply honored, — to com- 
memorate her singer, and to ask for him the place that 
he coveted among the kindly, sportive writers of his 
native land. 

The life of this young author was as placid as his 
equable character, and it was uneventful. He was born 
in New York, August 5, 1868, and he died at San 
Antonio, Texas, in the twenty-sixth year of his age, 
April 20, 1894, and was buried at Greenwood. At sev- 



PREFACE AND SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR V 

enteen he entered the National University Law School, 
at Washington, from which institution, in 1887, he was 
graduated with honors ; and subsequently, after a period 
of study and preparation, in the law-office of a New York 
attorney, he formed a partnership with Mr. Henry C. 
Bryan, his classmate and friend, and formally devoted 
himself to the practice of that profession. He was suc- 
cessful as a lawyer, almost from the earliest step, — clear 
in his perceptions, logical in his reasoning, expeditious, 
direct, impressive, and sincere, — but he soon wore out 
his strength, in the labor that he loved, and he then was 
obliged to travel, in the quest of health. From an early 
age he evinced the impulse to write, and, although he 
did not follow the literary art as a serious vocation, he 
was passionately fond of it, and, under more favorable 
circumstances he might have given himself wholly to its 
service. As things were, he had made a different choice, 
and if he wrote at all he wrote casually, according to his 
fitful moods and fancies ; but to the last he never quite 
laid down the pen. The quatrain with which this book 
closes, — simply expressive of sweet and patient resigna- 
tion and of the ecstacy of sublime faith, — was composed 
a few days before he died. 

The vein in which he chiefly loved to write was that of 
humorous playfulness, touched with sentiment, — a vein 
of which, in English literature, the most brilliant repre- 



vi PREFACE AND SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR 

sentatives are Thomas Hood and Winthrop Mackworth 
Praed. His characteristic literary manner was waggish, 
sprightly, sometimes gently satirical, but mostly home-like 
and prone to domestic themes. His fancy was moved by 
the thought of a pretty face, by a sense of the frolicsome 
propensities and whimsicalities of youth, by innocent 
feminine absurdities, by the contrast — always striking 
— between life's realities and youth's romantic illusions, 
and by natural beauty. He was, in personality, honora- 
able, chivalrous, buoyant, gleeful, affectionate, and gen- 
tle ; he lived with simplicity and died with composure ; 
and this book, — in which every trait is genial and every 
thought is pure, and of which the style is happy with 
vivacious feeling and verbal grace, — will commend itself 
to good hearts, wherever it may come. 

William Winter. 

Fort Hill, New Brighton, 

Staten Island, October 22, 1895. 



CONTENTS. 













PAGE 


THE JESTERS . 


^x 










3 


SIXTEEN .... 












S 


ST. valentine's DAY 












7 


maidens' LOVE 












9 


MY NEW SWEETHEART 












IO 


LEGAL MEDITATIONS 












12 


A SUMMER MESSENGER 












14 


AN IMPOSSIBLE GIRL 












16 


EASTER 












18 


A LAWYER'S VALENTINE . 












20 


PHOTOGRAPHS . 












22 


TO A VERY YOUNG LADY 












24 


FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH 












25 


INDECISION 












. 26 


THE DEBUTANTE 












27 


A GAME OF WHIST 












• 29 


A THWARTED AMBITION 












• 32 


A TALE OF THE RACES 












• 34 


TWILIGHT FANCIES . 












• 36 



Vll 



Vlll 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



FAITH 

HER NOTE 

SOLILOQUIES 

NOT A BOSTON GIRL 

THE RIGHT PLACE 

UP TO DATE 

JUDGE AND JESTER 

A PROVERBIAL PLEA 

UNVALUED 

MY TYPEWRITER 

AN IDEAL 

A SUGGESTION 

A TOAST . 

A GOOD SHOT 

A NOBLE BOY 

pike's PEAK 

IN OTHER DAYS 



FANCIE FREE 
" ACCEPTED " 



TEXAS 

A REVERIE 

NOT FOR ME 

BEREAVEMENT 

LOST OPPORTUNITIES 

A SOUTHERN GIRL 

TO J. H. M. 



CONTENTS 



IX 



HER THOUGHTS 

A LEGEND OF LOVE . 

WHY SONGS ARE SUNG 

LIMITATION 

OUR GIRLS 

THE RIVAL MINSTRELS 

ENCOURAGEMEMT 

THE ANGEL SONG 

IN LOVE'S DOMAIN 

THE SUMMER GIRL 

THE POET 

HOPE 

ellen's prayer-book 

WHITHER . 

A PASSING FANCY 

HER FACE 

THE EVENING STAR . 

MY LADY DISDAIN 

AT THE TELEPHONE . 

PERPLEXING 

TO THE GIR^S IN LIFE 

A POET'S PREDICAMENT 

THE OLD NEGRO'S PRAYER 

WITH THE ROSES 

THE VICTOR 

WITH A LACE HANDKERCHIEF 



CONTENTS 



A FRIEND . 

REMEMBRANCE . 

CHRISTMAS 

A WISH 

SMOKE 

POLLY 

MODERN MOTHER GOOSE 

A VALENTINE . 

LOVE LETTERS . 

WARNING . 

MAKING RHYMES 

GRATITUDE 

CUPID 

A QUANDARY . 

AFTERNOON TEA 

LOTTIE 

A FISH STORY . 

IDENTIFIED 

HER LETTER 

THE SOUTHLAND 

A MAIDEN'S " NO " 

ODE TO A DOCTOR 

THE GOLDEN GATE 

TO LOVE . 

AN IDEA . 

" EVER YOURS " 



CONTENTS 



XI 



REVISED . 

MY LADY . . . 

LYRA . . 

A FANCY . 

CHRISTMAS EVE 

AN UNPOPULAR MAN 

IF SHE WISHES TO 

THE EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY 

BEYOND . 

GHOSTS OF THE HEART 

HEARTS . 

RHYME AND REASON 

A THANKSGIVING RHYME 

AN IDYL OF SUMMER 

A TYPE 

CINDERELLA 

A SPRING BLOSSOM 

METEMPSYCHOSIS. 

A lawyer's BRIEF . 

A LITERARY HISTORY 

A CATASTROPHE 

A SEPTEMBER GREETING 

MEMORIES 

BETWEEN THE LINES 

WHEN LOVE IS OLD . 

ABSENT AND PRESENT 



Xll 



CONTENTS 



AN UNWILLING SCHOLAR . 

FAREWELL TO YOUTH 

A BIRTHDAY 

THE LESSON OF THE YEARS 

AT THE PORTAL 



PAGE 

156 
157 

l60 
l6l 



NOTE. 

Many of the verses included in this volume have 
appeared in The Century, Harper's Magazine, The New 
England Magazine, The Overland Monthly, The Cali- 
fornian, Life, Puck, Judge, Truth, Vogue, The Club, and 
other periodicals. Acknowledgment is hereby made for 
kind permission to reprint. 



LOVE AND LAUGHTER. 



When most by Reason I am sought, 
With graver themes, ofttimes 

My foolish Fancy turns to naught, 
And runs to making rhymes. 



LOVE AND LAUGHTER 



THE JESTERS. 

Tis strange, and yet in all the tales 
Of love and glory that are told, 

Of ancient Kings, and royal courts, 
Or old Crusaders brave and bold, 

My fancy does not dwell upon 
The ladies of those olden times, 

Nor on the knights who loved them then, 
But on the men who wrote their rhymes 

The motley fool, with nimble wit 
And ever quick and ready tongue ; 

On all his quips and jokes and jests, 
And all the merry songs he sung. 

And if the Buddhist bards be right, 
And it be true that souls of men 

Return from Paradise, to walk, 
In mortal form, this earth again, 

3 



THE JESTERS 

I know where those old jesters' souls 
The most congenial life would find ; 

And, as I write, I seem to know 
A hundred of them in my mind. 

In patent leather shoes they walk, 

Instead of pointed slippers, now ; 
And in the place of cap and bells, 

A modern hat adorns the brow. 

A coat of latest cut succeeds 
The ruffled doublet known of yore, 

And long creased trousers take the place 
Of gayly-colored hose they wore. 

But still their hearts are warm and true, 

As when they played their pranks and capers ; 

And some you '11 find upon the stage, 

And some write rhymes for comic papers. 



SIXTEEN. 

Lyra, you have all the pleasures 

Youth can hold 
Do not think the Future's treasures 

All are gold. 
Many gems we call the rarest 

Are not bright : 
Future days that look the fairest 

Lose their light. 

Be you very slow in letting 

Girlhood pass. 
Age will mourn its quick forgetting 

Youth, alas ! 
Love can wait another season ; 

Until then, 
Think you more of books and reason 

Than of men. 

Though your sisters smile, disdaining 

All your grace, 

In a while you will be reigning 

In their place. 
5 



SIXTEEN 

Men will then be just as witty, 

Never fear ; 

They will find you quite as pretty, 

And as dear. 

To you they will come a- wooing 

Many times ; 

Many others, as I 'm doing, 

Write you rhymes. 

Even now one doth adore you, 

Do not doubt ; 

All the more that they ignore you, 

As not "out." 

And when all your love and duty 

One shall own, — 
All your gentleness and beauty 

His alone, — 
Then you may, perchance, discover, 

Then may know 
That he was your girlhood's lover, 

Long ago. 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 

Long I wished a messenger, 
All my thoughts to bear, — 

Love I could not speak myself ; 
Words I did not dare, 

Till I knelt before the shrine 

Of the old St. Valentine. 

"Good St. Valentine," I said, 

" I have heard men say 
Thou wilt furnish messengers 

Of the heart to-day. 
If such power be really thine, 
Help me, oh, St. Valentine ! " 

Then he promised straight to send 
One both fleet and true, — 

Such a one as I would have 
Bear my love to you. 

But he failed me. Yes, in fine, 

He was false — St. Valentine. 
7 



8 ST. VALENTINE'S DA Y 

So I come, Love, with the hope 
That I dared not speak : 

So I tell you of my love, 
Though the words are weak. 

Must I all my hopes resign, 

Helped not by St. Valentine ? 

Though the message comes not in 
Style to suk the day, 

Yet the heart is full of love 
That the lips can't say. 

Don't refuse it, Sweetheart mine ! 

Be my own true Valentine ! 



MAIDENS' LOVE. 

As Cupid walked abroad one day 
With merry thoughts beguiled, 

He passed a grassy knoll, where lay 
A maid who dreamed and smiled. 

And to the maiden straight he cried, 
" Now, by my mother's dove, 

Why smilest thou ? " The maid replied, 
" I slept, and dreamed of love." 

But even as she spoke, the wight 
With laughter drew his dart, 

And like a bird it winged its flight 
Straight to the maiden's heart. 

" To dream of love you have no need," 

In triumph Cupid cried ; 
"" Know now the thrill of love indeed," 

And as he spoke, she sighed. 

And from that time down unto this, 

The fact no one denies, — 
A maiden's dreams of love are bliss, 

But when she loves she sighs. 



MY NEW SWEETHEART. 

Farewell to all the girls I 've known, 
Whate'er their names or stations ; 

To Winter suppers, Summer walks, 
And all the old flirtations. 

A new one takes their places now, 

Surpassing all the others ; 
And feelings that I had for them 

Were only like a brother's. 

She 's all that 's pure, and good, and true, 
And all that 's sweet and winning ; 

And with the love I Ve found for her 
A new life is beginning. 

She is as fair as lilies are, 

Her hand is like a fairy's, 
Her touch as light as thistledown, 

Her soul as pure as Mary's. 

10 



MY NEW SWEETHEART II 

Her clear blue eyes have never known 

The power that lies within them, 
Nor has she ever thought that men 

Might some day die to win them. 

No thought of conquest has this maid, 

No fond hearts has she broken, 
Nor has she ever said one word 

That she could wish unspoken ! 

Her name ? Who is she, do you ask ? 

And will I tell you ? Maybe. 
Oh, yes ; of course I will. Now laugh — - 

She 's just my sister's baby ! 



LEGAL MEDITATIONS. 

What use to me is " Byles on Bills " ? 
For " Jarman on the Law of Wills " 

I would n't give a jackstone. 
Nor would I give another for 
" Juries and Jury Trials," nor 
Coke, Bacon, Parsons, Story, or 

Fearne, Chitty, Kent, or Blackstone. 

Will Byles help me to pay the bill 
I owe for flowers ? Can her will 

Be changed by reading Jarman ? 
What 's " Greenleaf 's Evidence " to me ? — 
Or Littleton ? or Parker ? — he 
Is drier than theosophy, — 

Yes, worse than any Brahmin. 

And " Kneeland on Attachments," too, 
Has nothing in it that will do — 

The title is misleading. 
And though through dusty books I read, 
Alas, I ne'er can learn to plead 
In Cupid's Court, so she will heed, 

From " Stephen's Rules of Pleading." 
12 



LEGAL MEDITATLONS I J 

" Collyer on Partnership " I 've read, 
And vainly too ; "Contracts to Wed," 

By some one named Fitzsimmon. 
Nor does it seem to help me on, 
That " Marriage Settlements" I con, 
Or Schouler's learned book upon 

" The Law of Married Women." 

There is no statute I can find 

Will make a maiden change her mind ; 

Nor know I where the place is 
To find a law to help me win 
A suit like mine, — or I 'd begin 
To search it out. It is n't in 

My set of " Leading Cases." 

But — " Baylies on Appeals ! " Ah, there 
Is just the answer to my prayer ! 

I know now how to do it. 
From her decision — by the Seal 
Of all the Courts ! — I will appeal ; 
And that will make the verdict nil 

Until I can review it. 



A SUMMER MESSENGER. 

You poor, weak, trembling little breeze, 
That scarce can move my papers, 

Are you the lusty wind of March 
That played such merry capers ? 

You blew my hat across the street, 
And whistled while I chased it, — 

The while a laughing crowd stood by 
To see if I outpaced it. 

To-day you come so meek and mild — 
As if you feared my anger ; 

Or more, perhaps, as if you, too, 
Had caught our Summer languor. 

Come, little breeze, you need a change ; 

I '11 send you in this letter 
To help a dear girl, whom I know, 

Grow stronger, too, and better. 
14 



A SUMMER MESSENGER 1 5 

Return, then, to your mountain home, 

Grow strong again and sprightly ; 
And when her cheeks are flushed with heat, 

Be sure and fan them lightly. 



Blow sweet scents from your mountain pines 
Between her half-closed shutters, — 

You '11 be repaid, if her brown hair 
Entwines you when it flutters. 

But, first, when she shall break the seal, 

And set you free around her, 
Ask her if all the thoughts of love 

I Ve sent to her have found her. 

And if, perchance, you see her blush, 

Tell her how much I miss her ; 
And if she says she 's glad — well, yes, 

Since / can't, you may kiss her. 



AN IMPOSSIBLE GIRL. 

Once on a time there lived a maid 

Who never was of mice afraid, 

A perfect game of whist she played, — : 

This maid entrancing. 
Of gowns and styles she never talked, 
Attempts to compliment she balked, 
For exercise she only walked — 

She hated dancing. 

She wore no loud, queer-colored glove, 
She never yet had been in love, 
Her bureau held no picture of 

The latest actor ; 
And, furthermore, she never went 
To matinees, nor ever spent 
Her change for soda ; roses sent 

Could not attract her. 

Of slang she never used a word, 
Of flirting she had never heard, 
Society — it seems absurd — 
She did not care for. 
16 



AN IMPOSSIBLE GIRL I? 

At gay resorts, where men were not, 
She never seemed to care a jot, — 
Until the mothers wondered what 
The girl was there for. 

No one will know from whence she came ; 
She left no record but her fame ; 
Not even can we learn her name 

Or what her station. 
When did she live ? How did she die ? 
She lived in fancy. Tis a lie. 
I Ve only tried to practise my 

Imagination. 



EASTER. 

A long farewell to the cloth called " sack," 
To fasting and service and prayers, alack, 

And ashes for Beauty's adorning ; 
For, oh, what visions, in bonnet and gown, 
With eyes that shine as though never a frown 
Had marred their brightness, will storm the town, 

With the light of the Easter morning ! 

When the bells that peal so loud and deep 
Wake Mephistopheles out of the sleep 

That for forty days has claimed him, 
His smiling friends will greet him again, — 
The maids and the matrons, youths and men, — 
As warmly as though there was no time when 

They had neither known nor named him. 

For all of the churches, " low " and " high," 
Have done their part, and tis now good-bye 

To missal and hymn and sermon. 
For forty days have they had their place, 
And society, filled with the Lenten grace, 
Is turning now with a smiling face 

To theatre, ball, and german. 



EASTER 19 

And surely the comfort is great to some, 
To feel that by simply abstaining from 

" The world, the flesh, and the devil/' 
For forty days, they have all the year 
Except that forty, without a fear, 
To enjoy themselves till they leave this sphere, 

In a frolic of fun and revel. 

And though, of course, to be truly good 
Is what we strive for, and ever should, 

There 's another excellent reason 
Why youth to observe it is always bent, 
For many engagements are made in Lent, 
And, moreover, it seems a time that 's meant 

To prepare for the Summer season. 



A LAWYER'S VALENTINE. 

fptfe gear of 1894, m Wgltntitie's tk date, 






t 



That \ of my whole estate, 
To her I love the best I give, gtf txawe atxfl JX0%& 

forever, 
In full fee simple absolute, the %XUZ ^8VZ of the 

giver. 
%yx\ lest the grantee in this deed should ever wish to 

alienate 
To others, from herself, the whole or any part of this 

estate, 
Unless she first shall have obtained from the said 

grantor his permission, 
And do the same with his consent, 

20 



A LAWYER'S VALENTINE 21 

this express ©xrtXjdtttxrtX 
Is unto this said gift attached, That if she any part 

of this 
Conveyed estate \ however small, shall give away, she 

owes a fJ£i£S 
To the said grantor in this deed, unless the said 

grantor relents, 
Ipttt if he doth not he may claim the penalty for 

each offence. 
And the said grantor herein named, in testimony of 

his love, 
Has set hereto his hand and seal, the day and year 

first named above. 



PHOTOGRAPHS. 

That picture ? A relic of summer. 

I met her at — yes, Mt. Desert, 
And thought her just short of an angel : 

She proved to be only a flirt. 

That 's Nellie. Oh, don't you remember 
The night of the Charity Ball, 

Where she was the fairest of any, 
Her laughter the lightest of all ? 

Say, Harry, there 's one that 's familiar ; 

And this one. Yes, two of a kind. 
I know I was " pretty well smitten " — 

No wonder they say Love is blind. 

There 's Edith — I quite had forgotten 
Her picture was in among those. 

You knew her — the belle of the season, 
And I was but one of her beaux. 
22 



PHOTOGRAPHS 2$ 

And here 's one — you '11 laugh when you see it — 

A tintype we got at the shore — 
The girls we met down at the races, 

The day that we played Salvator. 



There 's Jessie, and Kittie, and Carrie — * 
Dear girls, I was fond of all three : 

But each of them married some fellow 
Who met her the first time through me. 

This evening I 'm looking them over, 
These pictures of girls I have known ; 

And Memory *s reaping a harvest 
From hours of pleasure I Ve sown. 

Touch gently this last one, old fellow, — 

I prize it all others above : 
For they were but fancies and follies, 

But this is the girl that I love. 



TO A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

Pray tell me, Margery, why it is 
That you, who are so fair, 

And so complete in other ways, 
Should not have any hair. 

Do you not know tis hard to write- 
If such they may be called, — 

Love songs and sonnets to a girl 
Who 's very nearly bald ? 

I wonder that a little hair 
Should seem so far beneath 

The notice even of a girl 

Who does not care for teeth ; 

For pretty hair and teeth help out 

A poet's halting rhyme, 
And no one can write clever songs 

To blue eyes all the time. 



24 



FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH. 2$ 

But when some eighteen Summers fair 

Those added charms shall bring, 
You '11 be surprised, and maybe pleased, 

With all the songs I '11 sing. 



FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH. 

To send a heart, as others do, 
I know is fitting at this season ; 

And I would gladly send one too, 
Except for one important reason. 

For even if I surely knew 

That if I did I should repent it, 

I would to-day send mine to you, 
If I had not — already sent it. 



INDECISION. 

Were Julia not so kindly sweet, 

And Lena sweetly kind ; 
If either's charms were less complete, 

Or I to one were blind, — 

Ah, then to part and say good-bye 

Would be but little more, 
And give no other pang, than I 

Have often felt before. 

But both are witty, bright, and true, 
And winning, frank, and fair. 

Would that my fickle heart I knew, 
And which was dearer there. 



26 



THE DEBUTANTE. 

I blush if I look in the mirror ; 

I sigh while I do up my hair ; 
Whenever I 'm told I am pretty, 

I wonder if some one will care. 

I start if he speaks to me quickly, 

I tremble at taking his hand, 
While he only murmurs, " Good evening. 

Why is it men can't understand ? 

I wish I could tell if he liked me ; 

He 's exactly the same to us all : 
To-night he took me to the German — 

He '11 take Belle to the Masquerade Ball. 

Oh, I hope he don't know that I like him ; 

I fear that I must have seemed bold 
When I said, " I am so glad to see you " ; 

Well, I 'm sure I don't want to seem cold, 
27 



28 THE DEBUTANTE 

How royally handsome, this evening, 
He looked in the midst of those men ; 

The rest were but shadows beside him. 
Oh, I wish I could hear him again 

Say he hoped that I " was n't too tired," 
As the waltz's last strains died away. 

Oh, mercy ! What nonsense I 'm thinking ! 
If I told Mamma, what would she say ? 

I thought he would feel my hand tremble, 
When he offered to button my glove. 

Oh, I know that he does n't care for me. 
Heigh-ho ! I 'm afraid I 'm in love. 



A GAME OF WHIST. 

Ethel : Whose deal ? Mine ? I declare ! I thought 

I dealt before. 
Now, (dealing to her partner) Tom, we really must make 

more. 
Diamonds are trumps, and — 

May : Whose lead ? 

Dick {mildly) : Yours, Miss May. 
May : Oh, of course. How stupid ! Yes. / don't 

know what to play. 
But (throws an ace) we 're sure of one. What ! must I 

play again ? 
Well (leads another) — 

Ethel : I do like to play with men ! 
They always keep so quiet and — 

May : That 's what I like, too. 
You can't play whist and talk. At least I can't. ( To 

Dick) Can you ? 
Dick (smiling) : Oh, yes ; pretty well. (Aside) Well, 

I 'm a chump 
If I play whist with girls again. 

29 



30 A GAME OF WHIST 

May : What ! my play ? What 's trump ? 
Tom : Diamonds. 

Dick : Clubs led, Miss May. 

May : Well, if that 's the case 
I think I '11 trump it. 

Ethel : May, that was your partner's ace. 
May : Never mind ; we got the trick. ( To Dick) You 're 

in the dumps 
Because I took it. 

Dick : Your play. 

May : Mine ? Oh, yes. What 's trumps ? 
Ethel : Now, we must make the odd. We really must, 

indeed. 
My play ? Well, there ! 

Tom {sadly) : That was our opponent's lead. 
Ethel : I thought you led it. Well, it does n't matter. 

Say, 
What are the trumps ? 

Tom : Diamonds. 

Dick : You took that trick, Miss May. 
May : Did I ? Oh, yes. Well, let 's see— I '11 play that 

then. {Dick starts) 
Why, what 's the matter — is that wrong ? 

Dick {grimly) : Tom trumps hearts. 

Tom {leading diamonds) : " When in doubt " 

Ethel : My play again ? 



A GAME OF WHIST 3 1 

May : What are trumps ? 

Dick : Diamonds. 

May : Oh, yes. What ails you men ? 
Don't you think whist is fun ? I do. Why, you look 

just as glum. 
Dick {feebly) : Do I ? 

Tom {aside) : I wish these girls were dumb. 
Dick : We think this is fine. 

Tom : Yes, the pleasure is intense. 
We Ve had a most delightful time, I 'm sure. 

Dick : Just immense ! 
May : We 9 ve enjoyed it. 

Ethel : Yes ; we do so like to play 
A scientific game of whist — with men, too — don't we, 
May? 



A THWARTED AMBITION. 

I would I were a " funny man," 
But Fate has been unkind ; 

I have no stock in trade of jokes 
Such as they seem to find. 

My baby does not cry at night ; 

My gas bills are not large ; 
The plumber makes, I must admit, 

A reasonable charge. 

My cook is all that I could wish ; 

And hash I never saw ; 
A gentler woman does not live 

Than is my mother-in-law. 

My coat has never carried home 
A hair from some stray curl ; 

I never knew a hotel clerk, 
Nor had a " Summer girl." 
32 



A THWARTED AMBITION 33 

Typewriters do not bother me — 

My own is quick and neat ; 
The only Western girl I knew 

Had very dainty feet. 

The theatre hats I Ve sat behind 

Were of a modest height ; 
The bathing dresses I have seen 

Were never " out of sight." 

The chorus girls I Ve known were young ; 

The choirs I 've heard could sing ; 
I sometimes even like to read 

A dainty " Ode to Spring." 

And so, although I 'd like to be 

One of those funny folks, 
I have to give it up, because 

Where could I get my jokes ? 

3 



A TALE OF THE RACES. 

He could tell you all the horses 
That had run at all the courses, 
When they ever held a meeting, 

Since the racing year began. 
And not only could he tell you 
All their names, but he could — well, you 
See he made their form a study — 

Say exactly how they ran. 

For he knew which horse was leading 
At each quarter, and their breeding, 
With the time for every quarter, 

And the horse that won the race. 
He knew which had " sulked " or faltered, 
And just how it would have altered 
Their positions at the finish 

Had the favorite made the pace. 

He knew records to a second, 
Who had made them, and had reckoned 
Just what other horse could do it, 
When the track was fast or slow. 

34 



A TALE OF THE RACES 35 

He remembered, too, the betting, 
And the jockeys, not forgetting 
To note specially the distance 
Every one of them could go. 

So you see, in half a minute 

He knew just what horse could win it, 

Whether at a mile or over, 

Or a short six-furlong dash. 
Then he never hesitated, 
Not a single instant waited, 
But he backed them in the betting 

For a goodly pile of cash. 

As a " plunger " he was noted, 
And his " tips " were often quoted ; 
Be it fair or stormy weather, 

He was always at the track. 
He came always, too, with money, 
But, although — tis very funny — 
He could tell so much about them, 

He was always walking back. 



TWILIGHT FANCIES. 

At twilight, floating fancies swarm, 
In circling flights, about my head, — 

All bright with roseate, radiant thoughts, 
And words that angels might have said. 

But when I try to hold them fast, 
As I have done so many times, 

I find them far too light and free 
To ever catch and cage in rhymes. 

As moths about a shining light, 
Or honeysuckle, gleam and whirr, 

The brightest-colored fancies float 
About my sweetest thoughts of her ; 

Like moths, one moment softly rest, 
But, as I touch them with my pen, 

Like them they spread their downy wings, 
And float off into space again. 
36 



FAITH 37 

But if some brilliant moth be caught, — 
The brightest of those fluttering things, — 

It shows, in morning's light, without 
One ray of color on its wings. 

And so my brightest fancies fade, 
My fairest thoughts I always miss, 

And find my memory holding fast 
To some dull gray one — such as this. 



FAITH. 

We know not God in all His wondrous might, 
Yet feel each day His love and watchful care. 

With naked eyes we may not view the light 
Of no'onday sun, and yet the sun is there. 



HER NOTE. 

Her dainty envelope is square — 
I think, the while its seal I tear, 
So like herself, both sweet and fair ; 
The note inside it, too, I '11 swear, 
Light and diverting. 

What though her heart be free from care, 
And blue her eyes and soft her hair, 
Her voice like Southern breezes rare — 
There 's not one touch of feeling there : 
She 's only flirting. 



38 



SOLILOQUIES. 

HIS DOCTOR. 

He 's surely failing very fast ; 

He 's really very ill. 
I fear he '11 not much longer last- 

I must prepare my bill. 

HIS LAWYER. 

Poor fellow, dying. Such is fate. 

Well, that will bring to me 
The settling up of his estate — 

Which means a rousing fee. 

HIS WIFE. 

Such trials come to all in life, 
And have to be endured. 

Of course tis harder for a wife — 
But then, he is insured. 
39 



40 SOLILOQUIES 

THE UNDERTAKER. 



He 's surely dying very slow. 

His funeral won't be grand, 
But ought to be a good thing, though- 

I wonder what they '11 stand. 



THE PATIENT. 



I cling not to my failing life, 
Though grief its loss attends 

In parting from my loving wife 
And my unselfish friends 



NOT A BOSTON GIRL. 

I seal the letter, write her name — 

Tis very dear to me,^— 
And then I add unto the same, 

Two letters— M and D. 

I see you smile in quick disdain ; 

You think of glasses, too, 
And little curls. Tis very plain 

What "M.D." means to you. 

But she is neither stern nor cold, 

As you perhaps may think. 
She 's young and fair, not grim and old ; 
; Nor does she scatter ink 

On notes of lessons that are said 

Before a learned class ; 
And from her dainty lips of red 

No long orations pass. 
41 



42 THE RIGHT PLACE 

t 

The only treatises she reads 
Are letters that I write ; 

The only lectures that she heeds 
Are those that I indite. 



You wonder how it all may be, 
And do not understand ? 

She lives in Baltimore. Md. 
Means, simply, — Maryland. 



THE RIGHT PLACE. 

He had been to the mountains, and down by the sea, 

All the Summer — for health was his quest ; 
And when he returned to his home, tired out, 
And again with its comforts was circled about, 

He said, " Well, it was all for the best ; 
This Summer is wasted, and I am a wreck, 
But next year will find me restored and on deck, 
For I '11 stay in the city, and rest." 



UP TO DATE. 

" Where are you going, my pretty maid ? " 
I 'm going to Dakota, sir,'' she said. 



H T », 



" May I go with you, my pretty maid ? " 

" Do you wish a divorce, too, sir ? " she said. 

" What is your fortune, my pretty maid ? " 
" My alimony, sir/' she said. 

u Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid." 
" I 'm already engaged, kind sir," she said. 



43 



JUDGE AND JESTER. 

When most by Reason I am sought, 
With graver themes, ofttimes 

My foolish Fancy turns to naught, 
And runs to making rhymes : 

Like to that judge of quaint renown, — 

He who, tradition tells, 
Light-hearted, doffed his wig and gown, 

To wear the cap and bells. 

But when from care I turn away, 

To greet my smiling Wit, 
My mind is like a court that day, 

Where Thought and Wisdom sit. 

Would that my Fancy did not grudge 

To own some honest rule, 
And knew when best to act the judge, 

And when to play the fool. 



44 



A PROVERBIAL PLEA. 

If "kissing goes by favor," as 

The wise folk all agree, 
Oh, why, my pretty maid, wilt thou 

Not sometimes favor me ? 

If "pity is akin to love," 

And many say it be, 
I pray thee, tender-hearted girl, 

A little pity me. 

And if "faint heart ne'er won " a maid, 

I pledge my word to thee, 
No man e'er wore a bolder heart 
, Than I will bear in me. 

If " absence makes the heart grow fond," 

I '11 cross the land and sea, 
And dwell in hope that, far away, 

Thou wilt grow fond of me. 

45 



46 UNVALUED 

But if " Love goes where it is sent," 
Oh, set young Cupid free, 

And make him thy swift messenger 
To bear thy love to me. 



If " love me little, love me long " 
Will move thee, hear my plea — 

Howe'er so little, so tis long, 
Will be enough for me. 



UNVALUED. 

A better impulse, from the violets tost, 

Came to the sodden man upon the grass 
He never knew the sense of something lost, 
Though he had let it pass. 



MY TYPEWRITER. 

Whene'er I see her pretty face, 

Low o'er the key-board bending, 
And watch her winning, girlish grace 

To this old office lending 
Unwonted gleams of sunny light, 

I can't think, I declare, 
That she 's the girl with whom I fight 

Sometimes, and almost swear. 

And as I watch her fingers pink 

Fast flying o'er the keys, 
Half tenderly I sit and think 

Of what my fancy sees. 
And at the end of every day, 

When she, with whom I 've battled, 
Has gone, to her machine I say : 

" No wonder you get rattled ! " 



47 



AN IDEAL. 

If I had the facile pencil 

Of a Gibson or a Wenzell, 

I would draw a girl beside whom 

Every other girl should fade. 
For within my mind's recesses, 
Fairer than your wildest guesses, 
I have long and fondly cherished 

The one fair, ideal maid. 

She should be as bright and witty, 
And as natty, arch, and pretty, 
As the fairest and the brightest 

That was ever seen in life. 
She should be no more than human 
Not an angel, but a woman, 
And that woman of all others 

That a man would call his wife. 

Fairer yet than outward seeming 
Is the soul of which I 'm dreaming ; 
And the graces of her spirit, 

All that 's sweet and pure and good, 
48 



A SUGGESTION' 49 

All that Love and Truth can teach her, 
Shine through every radiant feature. — 
Though I never hope to meet her, 
I would know her if I should. 



A SUGGESTION. 

The doctors now are in distress 
Because of the objection, 

Made by the people and the press, 
To wholesale vivisection. 

But it would lose, I much suspect, 

A host of the objectors, 
If Science would but vivisect 

Some of the vivisectors. 



A TOAST. 

In all the love songs everywhere, 

Tis strange and yet tis true 
That all the girls have golden hair, 

Their eyes are always blue. 

But though the tender eyes of blue 

Inspire so many rhymes, 
The brown-eyed girls have lovers too, 

And claim a song sometimes. 

As for my heart, — soft, light-brown hair, 

And eyes of deeper shade, 
Have left a tenderer impress there 

Than blue eyes ever made. 

And while the blue-eyed maidens live 

In other poets' lays, 
A modest verse or two I '11 give 

To brown-eyed maidens' praise. 
50 



A GOOD SHOT 5 1 

And may the songs we each shall write 

The pleasure to us bring 
Of finding favor in the sight 

Of her whose charms we sing. 

So, brothers of the pen, to you 

I drink this bumper down : 
Long may you write to eyes of blue, 

And I to eyes of brown ! 



A GOOD SHOT. 

" Death loves a shining mark." If so 

Tis rather strange 
He does not make the "baldhead row " 

His rifle - range. 



A NOBLE BOY. 

A father spake unto his son, 
The youth drew nigh to hear : 

" My boy, take this small pitcher out 
And have it filled with beer." 

Then calmly said the noble boy, 

" My father, you may break 
Your wrath upon me, but for beer 

That pitcher I '11 not take." 

" Ah, Heaven ! " cried the stricken man, 
" This, from my child, is rough." 

" Why, father," quickly cried the lad, 
" It does n't hold enough." 



52 



PIKE'S PEAK. 

This rugged mountain, aeons old, 

For ages all untrod, 
Has raised its head since time began, 

A monument to God. 

A thousand thousand Summer suns, 

In all their wondrous might, 
Have rested there, but failed to melt 

The giant's crown of white. 

Before that mighty altar men 

With reverent hearts have bowed, 

And sought, with awe-struck gaze, to pierce 
The summit's drifting cloud. 

Beneath the moonbeams' silver touch 

It rises grim and gray. — 
The same light floods your room to-night 

Two thousand miles away. 

53 



54 /AT OTHER DAYS 

Two thousand miles ! A little space 
When hearts are warm and true, — 

For while I watch Pike's Peak to-night 
My thoughts are all with you. 



IN OTHER DAYS. 

In other days the trees were brighter green ; 

In other days the sky was deeper blue ; 
In other days life's fairest joys were seen, 
Because of you. 

In other days you loved me, so you said ; 

In other days I thought you pure and true 
And now, alas, I would that I were dead, 
Because of you ! 



FANCIE FREE. 

Nott to any Mayde alone 
Long allegeance will I own. 
Juste as soone 

Her Squier 
Would I reste content to be. 
I will follow Minstralcie, 
And for alle who smile on Me 
Will I tune 

My Lyre. 

On brown Eyes & Eyes of blewe, 
Black & gray & everie hewe, 
Many sighes 

I 've wasted. 
Beauty's Charmes I 've bowed before, 
Beauty's Lippes I still adore, 
And thaire Swetes, lyke many more, 
Being wys, 

I Ve tasted. 

55 



56 FANCIE FREE 

In my Memorie, Wurd & Song, 
Daies yt. never were too long 
Art enrolled. 

Ingraven 
On my Harte are many Names, 
Gentyl Damsels, stately Dames, 
Faces sette in daintie Frames, 
Tresses gold 

And raven 



Surely Fate is kynde to Me ! 
Thoughe admiring, Fancie free 
Doth She let 

Me tarry. 
To ye sette of Youthe's bright Sunne 
May I love as I 've begon, 
Alle I meet, nor thynke there 's one 
Better yet, 

And marry. 



"ACCEPTED." 

It happened one day that a poet whose rhymes 
Very seldom appeared in the press — 

So seldom, poor fellow, between you and me, 
That they could n't appear any less — 

Remarked to his wife, when he kissed her good-bye, 

As he usually did, at the door, 
" Our money is gone, and I really don't know 

How on earth, dear, to get any more. 

" The market is dull, and I can't sell a thing, 
Though of excellent rhymes I 've no lack, 

And how dull it is you may know when I say 
That they send even dialect back." 

His wife only smiled, — she 'd a dear little smile 
That would brighten and bless any life, 

And a heart that by Nature was surely designed 
To belong to a poor poet's wife. 

57 



58 TEXAS 

That evening, disheartened, he came to his home, 
And his wife met him right at the door, 

A big roll of bank notes held close in her hand — 
Oh, a couple of hundred or more. 

"Your poems, ,, she cried, " I have sold every one !' 
(And the poor fellow's heart gave a bound). 

" Yes, is n't it lovely ? I sold them — just think ! — 
To a junk man, at one cent a pound." 



TEXAS. 

In days like this my life goes by — 
A Summer sun, a cloudless sky, 
A stretch of prairie brown and bare, 
And deathless silence everywhere. 



A REVERIE. 

Let me read the songs I sung, 
Ne'er the moments timing, 

When my pen and I were young 
In the art of rhyming. 

When, I wonder, did I write 
Rhymes as soft as this is ? — 

" Since that happy, fateful night 
I have felt your kisses. 
Fancy brings that moment back " — 

Csesar ! I was loony. 
That is what my nephew Jack 

Designates as " spoony." 
Did I not write something good ?■ 



44 Your caresses" — 

Well, I used to think I could. 

Here is one I guess is 
Somewhat better than the rest ; 
59 



60 A REVERIE. 

But this " Toast to Hebe " 
Hardly can be called the best. 
Here are 



" Phoebe's face is sweet and fair," — 

That, at least, was truthful. 
" Phoebe's smile would banish care " — 

Yes, when I was youthful ! 
Since that time I Ve wiser grown, 

And a trifle older ; 
Cupid leaves me quite alone — 

Then the rogue was bolder. 
Once he hovered o'er my pen 

Like a bee 'round honey ; 
For I wrote him verses then — 

Now I write for money. 



NOT FOR ME. 

I see the love-light shining fair, 
Half hid, within her eyes, 

And wonder if perchance she 'd care 
To know I heard her sighs. 

I sigh, myself, and turn away ; 

No longer may I see. 
The love-light shining there to-day 

Will never shine for me. 



BEREAVEMENT. 

I loved him as we only love one friend. 
Through life we walked, in all things side by side. 
He shared with all men both their joy and care ; 

And, living so, he died : 
Like common mortals, met the common end. 
The world has lost a man it ill could spare ; 
And I have lost a friend. 



61 



LOST OPPORTUNITIES. 

When I was a tiny lad, 

A very little fellow, 
Wore a kilted skirt of plaid 

And curls of shining yellow, — 

Then I thought that little girls 
Were very far below me ; 

But I Ve lost my yellow curls, 
And now you would n't know me. 

Then I used to scorn the kiss 
They sometimes freely offered ; 

Now, alas ! such earthly bliss 
Is never to me proffered. 

Would that I again might wear 
Those shining curls of yellow ! 

Girls would find me now, I 11 swear, 
A wiser sort of fellow. 



62 



A SOUTHERN GIRL. 

Her eyes 

Would match her Southern skies, 
That all their beauty lend her ; 
Their light, 

Like stars of Southern night, 
Is soft and clear and tender. 

Bright pearls, 

The gems of Southern girls, 
Her winning smile discloses ; 
Her cheeks, 

When admiration speaks, 
Wear only Southern roses. 

Her laugh, 

As light as wine or chaff, 
Breaks clear, at witty sallies, 
As brooks 

Run bubbling through the nooks 
Of all her Southern valleys. 
63 



64 A SOUTHERN GIRL 

Her voice, 

By nature and by choice, 

E'en those who know her slightest 
Will find 

As soft as Southern wind 

When Southern winds are lightest. 

Such youth, 
With all its charms, forsooth, — 
Alas, too well I know it ! — 
Will claim 

A song of love and fame, 

Sung by some Southern poet. 

But she, 

In future years, maybe, 

These verses will discover, — 
Sometime 

May read this little rhyme 
Sung by a Northern lover. 



TO J. H. M. 

What friendly goddess did to you 

This wondrous gift impart ? 
So perfect that we hesitate 

To call it only art ! 

You paint an evening scene so we 

May feel its subtle hush ; 
A wave, as though that wave itself 

Had broken from your brush. 

If you yourself are strong as are 

The waves you love so much, 
And if your heart be true and light 

As is your fingers' touch, 

To know you well would make more smooth 

Rough ways we all have trod : 
A man so near to Nature must 

Live very near to God. 

5 



65 



HER THOUGHTS. 

" A penny for your thoughts," he said, 
And saucily she raised her head 

To meet his searching eyes ; 
She laughed, and blushed a vivid red, 
Then shyly, " Oh, how stupid, Fred, 

A man is, when he tries. 

" For they are not, so I Ve been taught, 
Such things as can be sold or bought ; 

And, oh, you foolish Freddy — 
You did n't know it ? Well, you ought,- 
That I have not a single thought 

That is not yours already." 



A LEGEND OF LOVE. 

Many years ago a Princess 

Lived within a castle old, 
With a stern, sad King, her father, 

Of whom many tales were told, — 
Told by gray-haired men and women, 

With a trembling voice and tongue, 
Who recalled the happy hours 

When the aged King was young. 

How he loved a foreign Princess 

Of a sweet and gentle mien, 
And had brought her home in triumph, 

There to reign his people's Queen ; 
How the castle walls resounded 

With the joy her presence brought 
AnS the King, to please her fancy, 

Every day new pleasures sought. 

How he grew the more enraptured 
With her graces pure and sweet, 

And was less her lord and sovereign 
Than a vassal at her feet : 
67 



68 A LEGEND OF LOVE 

Told, with husky voice, and sadly, 
How the common people cried — 

For they all had known and loved her- 
When the gentle Princess died. 

How the King grew stern and altered, 

Cursed the God who reigned above, 
Closed his heart to human kindness, 

And his castle gates to love. 
But the young Queen left a daughter, 

And, in memory of his wife, 
All his shattered hopes and feelings 

Centred 'round this daughter's life. 

And the cherished little Princess 

Grew to beauty sweet and rare, 
With her mother's gentle nature, 

And her crown of golden hair. 
All her life was passed from childhood 

In her father's oaken halls, 
And she never knew that people 

Lived beyond his castle walls, 

Till one day was heard a bugle, — 
Came a knocking at the gate, 

From a young and knightly stranger 
Who had halted there in state. 



A LEGEND OF LOVE 69 

Went the old King forth to greet him, 

With a frown upon his face, 
But the young knight, smiling, met him 

With a frank and courtly grace ; 

Asked a lodging till the morrow, 

Was a pilgrim in the land, 
Craved his pardon for intruding, 

Knelt and kissed his withered hand. 
So the youthful traveller tarried ; 

And when evening shadows came, 
Lo, the startled King with sorrow 

Heard his guests unwelcome name. 

Once more Love had gained an entrance 

To his castle strong and grim, 
And his sweet young voice rang clearly 

In the sacred evening hymn. 
And the old man, sad and silent, 

Heard the lordly stranger sing, 
TiU a thrill of tender passion 

Swept the sorrow-broken King. 

And the young knight found a welcome ; 

And the days passed into weeks, — 
Till the Princess told her secret 

In the blushes on her cheeks. 



JO A LEGEND OF LOVE 

So it was Love conquered Sorrow, 
And ascended to the throne, 

Where he ruled the grand old castle 
With a glory all his own. 



Once again the King was happy, — 
And with misty eyes he smiled, 

As he told her mother's story 
To his daughter's little child. 



WHY SONGS ARE SUNG. 

Tis not for honors he may win 
The poet's songs are sung ; 

Tis not for these he lets us in 
To worlds he lives among. 

No bay nor laurel would he wear ; 

But that for which he longs 
Is only that some one, somewhere, 

May learn to love his songs. 



LIMITATION. 

,We know not of the other life. 

Why hope or fear ? 
Enough that this is pain and strife, 

And we are here. 



7i 



OUR GIRLS. 

I sing a song for modern girls, 

Against those girls of old 
Whose wondrous charms of face and mind 

In many a song are told. 

Sweet Peggy, who, on market day, 

Set Samuel Lover singing, 
So that he sent her praise in rhyme 

Down all the century ringing, 

Was not, within her low-backed car, 

A fairer sight, I trow, 
Than many a maid who drives about 

Within a dog-cart, now. 

The girl you left behind you, too, 

Ye fifers and ye drummers, 
Was not, I ween, a dearer girl, 

Then we 've left, many Summers. 
72 



OUR GIRLS 73 

And I am sure that little Ray, 

Who dances in the ballet, 
Is just as sweet, and loved as much, 
As Sally in Our Alley. 

Why, even dear Tom Moore, who wrote, 

With many loving sighs, 
Of " Fanny's hands," and " Jenny's lips," 

And " Lesbia's beaming eyes," 

Would, I am sure, agree with me 

If he had lived to-day, 
And sigh for words to sing the praise 

Of Molly, Maud, or May. 



THE RIVAL MINSTRELS. 

Haroun al Raschid loved his harem's maids ; 
He loved his gardens, with their winding shades ; 
He loved to watch his crystal fountains play ; 
He loved his horses, and his courtiers gay : 
He loved all royal sports that please a king, 
But most he loved to hear his minstrels sing. 

And so it happened that his fame had brought 

Two rival singers who his favor sought. 

Who pleased him best, full well each minstrel knew. 

Would be proclaimed the greater of the two. 

So well they pleased him that they found him loath 

To choose between them, for he loved them both. 

" Let all the nation judge, " at length said he ; 
" Who pleases best my people pleases me." 
Through all the land the rival poets sung, 
Their names and music were on every tongue, 
Until at length they never reached a door 
Where Fame had not sung all their songs before. 

74 



THE RIVAL MINSTRELS .75. 

Ben Olaf sang of deeds the Caliph wrought, 

And all the splendors that his riches brought ; 

The mighty warriors every nation boasts, 

And armies vanquished by the Prophet's hosts ; 

How Islam's valor was beloved, and feared : 

And when he finished, listening thousands cheered. 

Mustapha's songs were all of simpler things : 
Forgotten was the pride of earthly kings. 
He sang to them of home, and truth, and love ; 
How Allah watched his children from above. 
Close to their hearts the poet's music crept, 
And when he finished, all the people wept. 

For though Ben Olaf charmed them with his arts, 
It was Mustapha's songs that reached their hearts. 



ENCOURAGEMENT. 

u If I were you I would not flirt 

With every girl I knew," 
Once said a little maiden pert. 

Quoth I, " What would you do, 

" If you and I could change our place, 
(Suppose such things could be) 

And while I gained your girlish grace, 
You were transformed to me ? " 

Then did this little maiden cry, 
" You ask what I would do 

If you were in my place ? Why, I 
Would only flirt with you ! " 



76 



THE ANGEL SONG. 

There 's an old, sweet song that the angels sing, 
That we all have heard when we still were young, 

And would hear it now with a throbbing heart — ' 
Tis the evening song that our mothers sung. 

How it hushed our sorrows and childish griefs, — 
Such little griefs, but they brought their tears : 

And the echo of that sweet evening song 

Brings me peace even now, after all these years. 

As it soothed my troubles and strifes with boys, 
As I lay on her bosom and heard it then, 

So it echoes over the chasm of years, 

And strengthens me now in the war with men. 

Borne down with a burden of grief and care, 
And weary of ceaseless struggle and strife, 

Under the ban of my merciless fate 

I have raged and raved at the curse of life — 

77 



78 IN LOVE'S DOMAIN 

When, out of the silence, that dear old song, 
That I '11 not forget in an age of time, 

Comes sweet to my ear with the same low tune, 

Goes straight to my heart with the well-known rhyme. 

And so tis a fancy I sometimes have, 

A conceit that is strange, and it may be wrong, 

That the song I heard in my childhood days 
Comes back to me now as an angel's song. 



IN LOVE'S DOMAIN. 

In Love's domain, while lasts the day, 

How swift Time's flight. 
In Love's domain, when shines the sun, 

How warm and bright. 

But oh, the night ! 



THE SUMMER GIRL. 

Oh, the Summer now is ended, 

And from mountain, lake and shore, 

Cityward her way is wended 
By the Summer Girl once more. 

All the color of the roses 

In her cheeks she brings to town, 
And the greatest of her woes is 

That her neck and arms are brown. 

When again we chance to meet her, 
Clad in dainty robes of fur, 

We are lucky when we greet her 
If we get a smile from her. 

For no charm has faded from her 

In the city's giddy whirl, 
And as fondly as the Summer 

Do we love the Winter Girl. 



79 



THE POET. 

He sang too near to Nature's tones 

To please the critic's art ; 
His songs were music from his soul, 

The echoes of his heart. 

He could not train his thoughts to flow 

Like water serving mills ; 
They ran and leapt with foaming strength, 

As run the mountain rills. 

They shone as shines a flaring torch 

Beside a well-trimmed flame ; 
The people loved to read his songs, 

And smifed to speak his name, — 

Not they who measure music's voice 

By rhythmic rule, but those 
Who find a new and sweet delight 

Where every violet grows. 
80 



HOPE 8 1 

And when the clarion voice was stilled, 
And quenched the heart of flame, 

The critics learned at last how great 
Had been the poet's fame. 



HOPE. 

When in the West I see the dying sun 

Sink out of sight, 
I know that when the coming night is done 

There will be light. 

And when with sorrow and with earthly care 

I am oppressed, 
I think with peace of life's to-morrow, where 

There will be rest. 

6 



ELLEN'S PRAYER-BOOK. 

No volume bound in red and gold, 
Of tales of warriors brave and bold, 
No dearly valued, worn and old, 

Time-stained edition 
Of some Greek Bible, quaint and rare, 
Or rhymes in praise of ladies fair, 
But just a little Book of Prayer, 

And this its mission : 

To rest each week in Ellen's hands, 

As prettily devout she stands 

And reads her prayers and God's commands 

From out its covers ; 
And when her eyes demurely fall 
To read of Peter or of Paul, 
It wins an envious glance from all 

Of Ellen's lovers. 

Ah, in your trust and sweet belief 
In God and truth, be life too brief 
To set one rugged line of grief 
On your fair brow ; 

82 



WHITHER 83 

May He to whom you chant these psalms 
Guard you through life from all its harms, 
And meet you with His outstretched arms, 
As pure as now. 



WHITHER. 

The night is dark and stormy 
On life's unsettled sea, 

But clear and bright the morning 
When sets the tide to thee. 

Backward and forward drifting 

My ship forever goes, 
And if it reach the harbor, 

Alas, God only knows ! 



A PASSING FANCY. 

I sit alone to-night, and in the grate 

I watch the dying flame flash up and gleam 

An instant through the dark. Tis growing late, 
And still in silence do I sit and dream. 

The fancies that I see within its light 

Are sometimes like its ashes — cold and dark ; 

Another moment flashing up as bright 
As if in keeping with its brightest spark. 

But why should I sit sadly here to-night ? 

Others are fair, if one but thinks they are. 
That last red coal will make a splendid light, 

And — ah, by Jove, but that 's a good cigar I 



84 



HER FACE. 

In dreams I see it, sweet and fair, 

Within a frame of soft brown hair, 

That sometimes in rebellion flies 

Across a pair of starry eyes. 

And such a soft, delicious shade 

Of color has this little maid — 

A bright and pure and radiant hue, 

As though her soul were shining through. 



If this were all, we still might dare 
To hope we could escape the snare 
That Cupid weaves and deftly throws 
About us, with such charms as those. 
But to destroy one ling'ring chance 
We might have had, to meet her glance 
And not be taken captive quite, 
Upon her cheeks of rosy light 
Twin dimples play at hide and seek, 
Whene'er she dares to smile or speak. 
85 



86 THE EVENING STAR 

I think some angel in her room 
Has seen a tear shine through the gloom, 
Upon her cheeks, when she has wept, 
And lightly kissed them while she slept. 
Since then, her smile, with heavenly grace, 
Shows where the angel touched her face. 



THE EVENING STAR. 

The evening star looks in. 

What finds he here to see ? 
Naught in this room hath been 

Except my thoughts and me. 

My thoughts are black as jet ; 

He shines serenely bright. 
My star of hope has set ; 

He 's rising for the night. 



MY LADY DISDAIN. 

Think thou not, fair maid, that scorn 
Brings me closer yet unto thee, 

Or that I shall sigh forlorn 

That another comes to woo thee. 

If thou smile on all who come, 

Do not also smile on me ; 
If to me thy lips are dumb, 

Mine are also dumb to thee. 

One who cares for many knights 
May not count me in her train. 

Faith that knows so many plights 
Is a faith that I disdain. 

If my love thou choose to slight, 
I have naught of love to give ; 

And my heart shall still be light 
As thy fancy, while I live. 



87 



AT THE TELEPHONE. 

Hello ! Say, Central ! Hello, there ; 

Give me three forty-four. 
Yes, Thirty-eighth. No time to spare — 

I 've just one minute more. 
What 's that ? "A hurry " ? Yes, of course. 

" Don't shout so any more " ? 
I '11 keep on shouting till I 'm hoarse, 

Or get three forty-four. 



No, they 're not " busy " — they can't be ; 

I tell you I live there. — 
What *s that you say ? — You don't ? We '11 see ; 

Perhaps I '11 make you care. 



Say, Central, won't you hurry ? Say, 
Please get that for me soon ; 

I want to talk to them to-day — 
Not in next May or June. 



88 



AT THE TELEPHONE 89 

Come, get a move on ; you 're too slow. — 

Who 's " funny " ? Just one more 
Impertinence like that, and — Oh ! 

Is that three forty-four ? 
Is that you, Daisy ? — Can't you hear ?— 

Now, wait, I 11 say it slow. — 
Yes, Jack, me — Jack — now listen, dear : — 

Say, Daisy, do you know — 
Don't cut us off, I tell you — where 

(George ! how these wires sing ! ) 
My papers are ? — I did tit swear. 

{Great Ccesar ! D — n this thing !) 



Look on the hat-rack in the hall — 

(Connection 's bad, of course — 
It always is. — Confound it all !) — 

No, dear, I am not cross. — 
Yes, on the hat-rack. — All right, dear, 

I '11 wait. — Yes, my court docket. — 
I '11 wait, I say. . . 

Can't find it ? — Here, 

Great Scott ! It 's in my pocket ! 



PERPLEXING. 

" Mistress Mary, quite contrary," 

Sang a poet long ago, — 
Though just why he mentioned Mary 

Is what I should like to know. 

Why distinguish Mistress Mary 
From her sisters everywhere, 

When we know to be " contrary " 
Is a failing of the fair ? 

So just why it should be " Mary '* 
Will my senses still perplex, 

For in calling her " contrary " 
He informed us of the sex. 



90 



TO THE GIRLS IN LIFE. 

How perfect are the gowns you wear, 
Your figures how complete ; 

How finely moulded are your arms, 
How dainty are your feet. 

How clever, too, your speeches are r 
How quick your repartee ; 

If only you could really talk, 
And really would, with me. 

I do not like those fellows, though, 
You Ve with you all the time ; 

They 're dangerous rivals to the men 
Whose only gift is rhyme. 

How quickly could we fall in love, 

And find a charming wife, 
If only girls we really knew 

Were like the girls in Life ! 



91 



A POET'S PREDICAMENT. 

Alas for the fancy that led my pen 

In the wandering ways of rhyme ! 
How little I thought, when I wrote them then, 
I should hate my verses so fiercely when 

I should read them in later time. 

How little I knew they would prove the wreck 

Of my hopes at a future day. 
I sold the verses, and cashed the check, 
And spent it (I think it was Pommery Sec), 

And went on my daily way. 

To-day they are published — my name signed, too- 
Distributed all over town, — 
Addressed to a maiden "fond and true," 
Whose hair is " golden " and eyes are " blue " — 
And her hair and eyes are brown ! 



92 



THE OLD NEGRO'S PRAYER. 

Oh, Massa, I 'se weary an* cripple' an* oie, 
But I 'se journeyin' on ter de City ob Gol' ; 
Yo' calls li'l chillun its wonders to see, 
An' sho'ly dar 's room fer ole niggers lak me. 

We 's free fum de shackles we onct use ter w'ar, 
But we 's nebber foun' freedom fum sorrer an' car* ; 
De burden gits bigger de ol'er we grows, 
An' mo' rougher de journey de furder we goes. 

At ch'ch, ev'y Sunday, de preacher tells how 
We mus' all earn our bread in de sweat ob de brow, 
But we 's got roomyticks, so we kaint till de ground 
An' we ain' good fer nothin' cep' hangin' aroun\ 

But, Massa, please 'member dey 's some un us blhV, 
An' we don't see de paf we 's a-strivin' ter nn', 
And dey 's some un us deef, so we kaint hear Yo' voice, 
An' we 's bent an' we 's feeble, but yit we '11 rejoice — 

93 



94 WITH THE ROSES 

Fer de light '11 come back wid de Jubilee Mo'n, 
An' de yeahs hear agin wid de soun' ob de ho'n, 
An* de back it 11 straighten, de face 11 grow young, 
An' de Heabens '11 ring wid de songs dat are sung. 

An' de Lord th'u' de fiah '11 ride in His might, 

Lak de sun in his glory ; an' dark 11 be light. — 

Oh, Massa, we 's libhY so dat, widout feah, 

When Yo' calls us by name we kin all answer u Heah ! " 



WITH THE ROSES. 

" Sweets to the sweet " the proverb runs. 

If so, these are your due, — 
Although they 're neither half so sweet, 

Nor half so dear, as you ! 



THE VICTOR. 

Whene'er the King doth hold his Court 

The Princess is his joy and pride, 
And to himself he smiles to see 

The foreign Princes at her side. 
Through all the Court a Jester moves, 

With merry laugh and song, the while, 
A thousand times repaid for all 

If he but see the Princess smile. 

And strange it is, although in state 

Around her royal suitors throng, 
With dainty words, she listens most 

Unto the Jester's simple song. 
And if a courtier catch her smile, 

If he would turn his powdered head 
He 'd see it was not meant for him, 

But what the smiling Jester said. 

Ah, Princess, it should not be hard 
Your treasured secret to surprise, 

For where the Jester moves about 
There follow fast your watchful eyes. 

95 



96 THE VICTOR 

Oh, foolish Princess ! Why should you, 
Entranced by all his jingling chimes, 

Refuse a royal love, for one 

Whose only art is making rhymes ? 

Tis true his songs are all for you, 

As all his heart is yours alone, 
But could you not by love have placed 

Some nobler suitor on your throne ? 
Ah, dainty fops that court her smile, 

If you but knew her Fool caressed her, 
How gladly would the proudest change 

His rank and wealth to be her Jester ! 



WITH A LACE HANDKERCHIEF. 

I send this little bit of lace, 
As emblematic of the grace 
Which makes your heart its resting place, 

My gentle Mary. 
You know that it has oft been told 
In rhymes and tales in days of old, 
There lives in every snowy fold 

A little fairy. 

If this be true, I have no fears 
That ever in the coming years 
This lace will wipe away your tears, 

For all will love you ; 
And I have charged each elfish sprite 
To tell you all I wish to-night, 
, And make forever fair and bright 

The sky above you. 

7 



97 



A FRIEND 

Death is a healer whose 
Visits we may not choose, 

Nor stay his call ; 
Equal to rich and poor, 
His is a certain cure, 

That comes to all. 

He, with a gentle touch, 
Soothes those who suffer much, 

Stills those who laugh — 
Those who may pass the cup 
Lightly that Life holds up, 

And those who quaff. 

All earthly storm and strife, 
Though they have wrecked a life, 

His voice can still. 
Pain's heavy iron bands 
Loose where he lays his hands — 

Break at his will. 
98 



REMEMBRANCE 99 

Love is for life alone ; 



Sorrow and sigh and moan 

Each with it blends. 
Laughter and song must cease 
Death only bringeth peace 
That never ends. 



REMEMBRANCE. 

No words will ever be as sweet 
As were the words she used to say. 

No day will ever be as sad 
As was the one she went away. 

Some other hand may rest in mine 
As through the world I slowly go, 

Bat none will ever be as dear 

As that soft touch I used to know. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Oh, the glorious Christmas weather ! 
When all hearts keep time together, 
And we never have a feeling 

That is not serene and bright ; 
When the snow is falling, falling, 
And the sound of coasters calling 
To their fellows on the hillside, 

Echoes clearly through the night. 

How the sleigh bells tinkle, tinkle, 
While the snow goes crinkle, crinkle, 
And the furs and robes about us 
Hardly serve to keep us warm ; 
And our feet and fingers tingle 
To the music and the jingle, 

As we drive on swiftly homeward 

Through the thickly flying storm. 

How the lights shine out to meet us ! 
How the dogs rush out to greet us, 
As we draw up at the gateway ; 
And the horses, in a steam, 
ioo 



CHRISTMAS 1 01 

Stand there restless, stamping, stamping 
In the drifting snow, and champing 

At their bits, with white manes tossing — 
Like the shadows in a dream. 

How the blazing hickory fire 
Flashes higher, higher, higher, 
As we pile the wood upon it 

And draw closer all around ; 
While the cracking and the snapping 
Of the logs, like wood-gnomes rapping 
For release from out their prisons, 
Has a weird and wintry sound. 

Oh, the warmth and love within there ! 
Oh, the stories that we spin there, 
To the children, of the Ice King 
Who lives out in all the snow : 
But at length we leave the fable, 
And recall the lowly stable 

Where the King of Love was lying, 
Many centuries ago. 

Till, as we all sit there thinking, 
Little eyes with sleep are blinking, 
And the old clock in the hallway 
Tells of Christmas come again ; 



102 A WISH 

And the whole white earth rejoices, 
As though sweet, angelic voices 
Sang again the old, old story, 

" Peace on earth, good will to men." 

Then the merry early waking, 
As the Christmas morn is breaking, 
Finding everybody happy 

With the warmth of Christmas cheer. 
Ah, when love is such a feeling, 
All our better selves revealing, 
Let us dwell in love forever, 

And have Christmas all the year ! 



A WISH. 

If " evil that men do lives after them," 

I hope, sometimes, 
The evil that lives after me 

May be my rhymes. 



SMOKE. 

As I watch the pale blue spirals 
From my brown Havana curl, 

Every whiff is soft and fragrant 
As the sweet breath of a girl. 

And the blue clouds, softly rising, 

In a moment turn to white, 
As the light wind breaks their beauty 

And they float into the night. 

And my fancies all are brighter, 
And my thoughts are sweeter far, 

As though both had caught the sparkle 
And the scent of my cigar. 



103 



POLLY. 

Polly is pretty, and Polly is bright ; 
Polly is witty ; her laughter is light. 

Polly is winning, and Polly is fair ; 
Like the beginning of morn is her hair, 

Ere the sun o'er the mists mounts to the skies — 
Like to their glory the blue of her eyes. 

Charms that are mental as well do I find ; 
Polly is gentle, but Polly 's not kind. 

Polly plays lightly when love is the stake, 
Caring but slightly whose heart she may break. 

Mine is not lonely — she holds many hearts, 
Though she laughs only at Love and his arts. 

Polly, I pray you, since mine you have won, 
Keep it ! Thus may you repair what you Ve done. 



104 



MODERN MOTHER GOOSE. 

If the noted " Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe " 

Should ever come back to this earth, 
Commodious quarters she quickly would find 

Were Chicago the place of her birth. 

While " Little Jack Horner Who sat in a Corner " 

Would feel quite at home in a seat 
On the Produce Exchange, if the market were brisk, 

And he ever got " cornered " in wheat. 

And " Little Boy Blue," with his fondness for sleep, 
Would be blue as the bluest Blue Ridge 

If he lived in New York, but could sleep as he pleased 
If he only moved over the Bridge. 



105 



A VALENTINE. 

Though Cupid is a merry, careless wight, 
And will not always at my bidding write 

The things that I would like to have him say, 
Yet to the rogue I gave a pen and ink, 
And bade him set down all that I might think, 

Or he could see within my heart to-day. 

So time passed on, with many thoughts beguiled, 
Till, looking up, I saw that Cupid smiled, 

And to my tongue came quickly words of blame ; 
But well I knew for these he would not care, 
So stooped to see what he had written there. — 

On all the page I only found your name. 

My first surprise I very quickly masked, 
But still he smiled, and I impatient asked, 

" Why did you trifle this way ? Tell me, sir ! " 
He turned to answer me, and, open-eyed, 
Looked up into my face as he replied, 

" The only thoughts you had were thoughts of her." 



1 06 



LOVE LETTERS. 

Tom (entering) — Ah, burning letters ? 

I '11 bet, in the flame and the smoke 
There's a story, eh ? 

Dick — That 's no reason 
For laughing. I don't see the joke. 

Tom — Well, the first time it 's not funny. 

You '11 get used to it, though, by and by, 
As I have, and — 

Dick (very stiffly) — 
I don't think I shall, though. 

Tom— Why ? 

Dick — My story ends with these letters. 

Tom — Nonsense ! 

Dick — Well, it is true. 

Tom — Maybe, but tell me the story. 

107 



108 LOVE LETTERS 

Dick — It would n't much interest you, 
But nevertheless I will tell it. 

This first letter, then, is the one 
That she wrote from the mountains last Summer. 

Tom [reading) — " I wish you could run 
Up in time for the Thursday cotillion. 

Brother Jack will come too, over night. 
Mamma will be happy to see you, 

And, really, I think that you might/' — 
Did you go ? 

Dick— Do Turks go to Mecca ? 
Does a saint go to kneel at a shrine ? 
Does a Christian forsake his religion ? 

Well, that girl in the mountains was mine. 

Tom — You answered the letter in person ? 

Dick — I went just to stay to the ball, 
But— 

Tom — With a trip to the city 
Now and then, you stayed through to the Fall. 

Dick — Yes, that is so. 



LOVE LETTERS IO9 

Tom — The ending 
I can guess. She is married. 

Dick — No. 
Tom — Well, if she is n't, what ails you ? 

Dick {softly) — She 's going to be, though. 
Tom — Where is she now ? 

Dick — In London. 
She's had all the place could afford, 
And is coming home now, to be married. 

Tom — Of course tis no less than a lord. 
I suppose he sails with them from England ? 

Dick — No, for her heart was " still true 
To New York," so she wrote. 



Tom— She has n't 
Forgotten last Summer and you ? 
You tell me you hear from her ? Come, now- 



Dick {proudly) — Those letters were mailed 
From about every city in Europe, 

And to catch every steamer that sailed. 



110 LOVE LETTERS 

Tom — Why are you burning them all, then ? 
Oh, perhaps she 's refused you ? 

Dick — No ; 
The last was signed " Ever yours only.'' 

Tom — But you were burning them, though. 

Dick — Yes, for their writer is coming, 
Herself, and this cable — the last — 

See ! {reading it) "Sailing, Majestic." 
God grant that the passage be fast ! 

Tom — That is the end of the story ? 

Dick {smiling) — Well, yes, or will be 
When the steamer arrives, for you see, Tom, 
She is going to be married to me. 



WARNING. 

/B>usic is her laughter sweet, 
Hnd like fairy's are her feet ; 
IRoses find their richest hue 
Ifn her cheeks, but ye who woo, 
JEven though she smile on you, 
3Be ye ever fearful ; 
3£ven though she doth beguile, 
Xinger but a little while, 
Xove will leave you tearful. 



nr 



MAKING RHYMES. 

Tis such a very pleasant thing 
To hear another poet sing, 
To see how easy he can fling 

The rhymes in songs and sonnets ; 
But tis so hard to do, yourself, 
When you, mayhap — unlucky elf — 
Must ring those rhymes for sordid pelf, 

And coats and shoes and bonnets. 

Somehow his verse so easy flows, 

His Pegasus as freely goes 

As though the minstrel really knows 

Just what is coming after ; 
While mine is crippled, halts and breaks, 
As though he had a thousand aches 
In every joint, until he makes 

Himself a thing for laughter. 

Sometimes tis hard to find a rhyme, 
When you have started out to climb — 

112 



MAKING RHYMES II3 

Here 's an example, just in time — 

The heights of grim Parnassus ; 

For, to u Parnassus/' now, you know 

I need a rhyme, and searching go 

Among my thoughts, which run as slow 
As — well, as cold molasses. 

But that 's enough to show how hard 
Must work the patient, laboring bard 
To have his verse escape the card 

That tells him tis rejected — 
" With thanks " of course. Polite, you see, 
But little comfort, if, like me, 
Instead of thanks, an " X " or " V " 

Was what he had expected. 



GRATITUDE. 

It happened that a King who lived 
When all the Kings were good, 

In riding, one day, came upon 
Two beggars, in his wood. 

And to the beggars straight he cried, 
" Tis well that we should meet, 

For full I see your need of clothes, 
And things to drink and eat. 

" Go up unto my castle, now, 

And tell him at the gate 
To give each one a suit of clothes, 

Likewise a well-filled plate. 

" And let him surely not forget 

To give unto each man, 
In which to drink his Sovereign's health, 

A deep and foaming can." 
114 



CUPID 1 1 5 

The beggars went and quick were clothed, 

And had their drink and meat, 
And then upon their way they went, 

With quite uncertain feet. 

Now, mark you — beggars' natures then 

And now are quite the same — 
"That chap has got no sense," laughed they ; 

" Zounds, he was easy game ! " 



CUPID. 

Whom Cupid hits with feathered dart 
He quick repays with kisses, 

And, clever marksman though he is, 
One-half his shots are Misses. 



A QUANDARY. 

I know two girls, both winning, sweet, and fair- 
As bright as morning, but with eyes and hair 

As dark as night : 
One, tall and graceful, beautiful and slender ; 
The other, gentle, loving, true and tender, 

And fairy light. 

'Twould puzzle any one who knew the two 
To name that one to whom his fancy flew, 

And truly say 
(Could he but calmly think of them apart) 
If pretty little Maud had won his heart, 

Or lovely May. 



116 



AFTERNOON TEA. 

That " There 's many a slip 

'Twixt the cup and the lip," 
Is a saying that 's old, I '11 allow ; 

But in watching May tip 

Her light tea-cup and sip 
From its edge, it occurred to me now, 

That if I were that cup 

She was just lifting up 
To her lip — By the spirit of Puck ! — 

If a slip, I declare, 

Were to happen just there, 
I should think it was very hard luck ! 



117 



LOTTIE. 

u Oh, Lottie is fair as the morning, 

And Lottie is bright as the sun ; 
Her cheeks all the roses are scorning, 

Her eyes dance with frolic and fun. 

" She fills all the day with her chatter, 
With laughter the pauses between, 

And care to the four winds doth scatter — 
For Lottie is merry sixteen." 

But what though Miss Lottie is pretty ? 

And what though Miss Lottie is bright ? 
And what though she really be witty, 

Or merry from morning till night ? 

What good does it do me to know it, 

Though her presence makes Summer of Fall ? 

For my brother, alas, is her poet, 
And I 've never seen her at all ! 



118 



A FISH STORY. 

There was a fisherman — But stay, 

You '11 not believe the tale I tell. 
It does n't end the usual way 

That fishing stories do, but — well, 
I '11 let it go for what tis worth — 

That it were true you all will wish- 
A fisherman once walked the earth 

Who never lost the biggest fish. 



IDENTIFIED. 

JWho is that little man who sighs, 
And seems afraid to claim his life ? 

Why, that 's the man who won the prize 
For " Hints on Managing a Wife." 



119 



HER LETTER. 

Ah ! here 's the answer to my note 

In which I asked her to be mine. 
If she but favor what I wrote 

I '11 kneel forever at her shrine. 

I wish she wrote more plainly. What ? 

Oh, yes ! — " I got your note to-day, 
And hasten to — to — say — " Great Scott ! 

What is it that she hastes to say ? 

" That though we were dear friends M — Of course 
I might have known 'twould end like this — 

"I never thought of love." — I '11 force 
Behind me this short dream of bliss. 

" So that your declaration quite 

Surprises me, I must confess. 
I '11 think about it over night." — 

Well, that means " No," then.— " P. S— Yes." 



120 



THE SOUTHLAND. 

There the slow rivers glide down to the sea ; 
There the wind quivers the vine and the tree. 

There the bird voices give life to the air, 
All earth rejoices, and Nature is fair. 

There the shy Springtime first stops on her way, 
Careless what King Time or Winter may say. 

There every flower gives home to a bee ; 
There every hour is happy and free. 

Hearts there are truthful and friendship is dear, 
Growing more youthful with love every year. 

Honor a boast is, o'er all and before ; 
Kindness stands hostess at each Southern door. 

Breezes are blowing o'er valley and hill ; 
Blossoms are snowing in memory still. 

Northland is home, though, and there must I be : 
Whene'er I roam, though, the Southland for me ! 



121 



A MAIDEN'S " NO." 

Long in secret had I worshipped 

All the beauty of her face ; 
Tenderly my heart had cherished 

Every winning, girlish grace. 

Till I asked, one evening, chatting 

In the fire's dancing light, 
Would it very much offend her 

If I stole a kiss to-night ? 

" Yes, of course," she quickly answered ; 

Adding sharply, " Don't you dare ! 
The impertinence to ask me ! 

Why, you knew that I should care." 

And she seemed so much in earnest 
That I dropped the subject quite, 

And we talked of other matters 
Till the time to say good-night. 
122 



ODE TO A DOCTOR 1 23 

When she stood a moment, smiling, 

And she tossed her pretty head 
As she looked at me, and, laughing, 

Then this little maiden said : 



" That 's the way with all you fellows 
Who write silly little rhymes. 

In the time you spent in asking 
You could kiss me fifty times ! " 



ODE TO A DOCTOR. 

The Doctor comes, and quick prescribes ; 

And then, when we are better, 
He sends a bill that reads like this : 

" To Dr. Cureall, Dr." 

!For when we 're in the grasp of Pain, 
And he has come and knocked her, 

We surely must admit that we 
Are Dr. to our Dr. 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 

Where the waves of the Western ocean 

Lap the shores of a golden State, 
And the door to the New World's treasures 

Is known as the Golden Gate, 
I stood in the light of the sunset, 

And afar in the Western skies 
A strange and a shadowy vision 

Passed slowly before my eyes. 

There were thousands of hurrying figures, 

As they came in the days of old, 
Like the hosts of the brave Crusaders, 

At the rallying cry of " Gold ! " 
How high were the hopes they cherished, 

Of the ease of a future life ; 
How many the dreams that perished 

In the tumult of toil and strife. 

How many a weary pilgrim 

Died, cursing the mocking Fate 

That had led his feet from the hearthstone 

Through the arch of the Golden Gate ! 

124 



THE GOLDEN GATE 1 2 J 

And the sea, as it sighed around me, 

Told tales of the long ago, — 
Of the ships with their souls and treasure, 

That came with its ebb and flow ; 

Of the last sad, lingering partings 

Whenever a vessel sailed ; 
How many a heart had broken, 

How many a spirit quailed ; 
How bitter the hopeless anguish 

Since some remembered date, 
When the hopes and the lives of thousands 

Sailed out through the Golden Gate ; 

Of the patient and weary watchers 

That stood on the Western shore 
And waited a missing vessel, 

And prayed for the souls it bore ; 
Of the thankful and glad rejoicing 

When, with all of its priceless freight, 
The barque that they thought had foundered 

Came in through the Golden Gate. 

But the vision was slowly changing, — 

And there, where the red sun dips, 
Stood a city in whose proud harbor 

Was anchored a world of ships : 



126 TO LOVE 

And I turned in the gathering darkness 
From my vision of Time and Fate, 

As the rays of the fading sunlight 

Shone faint through the Golden Gate. 



TO LOVE. 

Oh, Love, thy changing will breaks many a heart ; 

Thy tyrant spell all souls must own, and yet 
One will have long forgotten ere they part, 

And one will love and never can forget. 

One's gentle trust and perfect faith are hurled 

From Heaven's heights to depths as deep as Hell ; 

While one goes lightly smiling through the world, 
Again to weave, again to break the spell. 



AN IDEA. 

If I could only write a rhyme 
With some new joke hid in it, 

To catch the editorial eye 
As soon as he 'd begin it, 

I 'd send it out with gleeful heart, 

My full name to it signing, 
Well knowing it was different from 

The ones he 'd been declining. 

Of course he might not read the rhyme — 
Thev sometimes don't — but should one, 

I 'd like to have him laugh and say, 
" By George, but that 's a good one ! " 

And when his mirth had died away, 

And he was more collected, 

1 'd like to have him send a card 

That would not read — "Rejected." 

But editors are hard to please. 

They never laugh — I know 'em — 
Unless they laugh that I should think 

This one that kind of poem. 
127 



"EVER YOURS." 

It lies before me as I write, 

And though I turn, my wandering sight 

Again it quick allures — 
A plain and modest little note, 
From which in fancy oft I quote 

The ending — " Ever yours." 

And as I watch it where it lies, 
Her waving hair and soft blue eyes 

My memory quickly brings ; 
And, like a picture, to my mind 
Come blushing cheeks and glances kind, 

And other pleasant things : 

While to myself I frankly own 
My heart is hers, and hers alone — 

I worship at her shrine, 
And think how different life would seem 
If she of whom I fondly dream 

Were really — ever mine ! 
128 



REVISED 129 

But she, alas, ne'er wrote it there 
With half a thought that I would care. 

She 9 s a stenographer — 
My brother's — thus it was, you see, 
That she wrote " Ever yours," for he 

Dictated it to her. 



REVISED. 

" Tis money makes the mare go "- 
A proverb oft you 've heard ; 

But that was in the olden time, 
And now it seems absurd. 

For if you go and put a bet 
On any mare you know, 

Instead of money making her, 
She '11 make the money go ! 



MY LADY. 

My Lady has no ancestral hall, 
With its oaken floor and its gilded wall ; 
No pages start at her beck and call, 
To quickly serve My Lady. 

No maids of honor around her stand, 
No knights and vassals wait her command, 
No signet graces the slender hand 
Of her I call My Lady. 

She owns no acres, nor jewels rare, 
For her only wealth is her golden hair, 
And who wins her hand holds her fortune there- 
Would it were I, My Lady ! 

No title descends in her family line, 
But peace and truth in her clear eyes shine, 
And she lives a queen by a right divine, 
And reigns by love, My Lady ! 



130 



LYRA. 

Oh, yes, Lyra, you are fair — 
From the shining golden hair 
That has crowned you, down to where 

Dainty feet are peeping. 
Yes, your eyes are soft and bright — 
Stars in many a lover's night — 
May their tender, liquid light 

Ne'er be dimmed by weeping. 

Oh, your mirror tells you true. 
Trust it, Lyra. Why need you, 
As you often love to do, 

Stand so long before it ? 
Think you it withholds a part, 
Does not truly use its art ? — 
Could it show your inmost heart 

How I would adore it ! 

Have not lovers cried your praise, 
Poets sung you in their lays, 
Are not all your pretty ways 

Known and loved and noted ? 
i3* 



132 A FANCY 

Are not all your speeches caught 
By quick ears, and every thought, 
Though it may amount to naught, 
If you say it, quoted ? 

By the fame of Venus' dove, 
Little wonder that you love, 
In your dainty bower above, 

To stand before your mirror. 
See you there, as others do, 
All that 's sweet and pure and true,, 
All the soul that *s shining through 

Your fair beauty, Lyra ? 



A FANCY. 

If by some magic spell or trick, 
We all could be the ones 

We most admire, think how thick 
Would be Joe Jeffersons ! 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

The self-same stars shine clear to-night, 

Across the glistening snow, 
That smiled on peaceful Bethlehem 

Two thousand years ago. 

Oh, Prince of Peace, though we may stray 

Far from Thy gracious ways, 
At Christmas time we all come back, 

As in the younger days ; 

And 'round the open fireplace 

Are children once again, 
And sing the song of Peace on earth 

And good will unto men. 

'And though it passes with the night, 

We 're better all the year, 
That for one day our hearts were filled 

With love and Christmas cheer. 



i33 



AN UNPOPULAR MAN. 

" But why, my dear," her mother said, 

" Do you refuse his offers ? 
There 's many a girl would give her head 

To own one-half his coffers. " 

" I do not like him," she replied. 

" But why ? " The maid explains, 
" No girl would like him — I have tried. 

Why, Mother, he has brains ! M 



IF SHE WISHES TO. 

" If woman can make 

The worst wilderness dear," 
She can even make life 

Worth the living, just here. 



i34 



THE EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY. 

My little friend, pray pardon me 

A few familiar lines, 
And if I seem presumptuous, think 

That friendship, like new wines,. 

May much improve with age, tis said, 
And grow in strength with time — 

For on that plea I venture now 
To write you this poor rhyme. 

May you have every joy you wish 
That youth and love can give ; 

And may you, living out your life, 
Teach others how to live. 

May all your future days be full 

Of happiness and light, 
And may a guiding star of hope 

Shine clear in every night. 

May all your life, both night and day, 

Be free from grief or tears, 
And may you count me still your friend, 

At double eighteen years. 

i35 



BEYOND. 

To sleep, but never more to wake 

To this sad life, and know- 
Its love or longing, joy or grief, 

Its struggle and its woe ; 
To pass to brighter, fairer scenes, 

From calm and peaceful sleep, 
And never more know throb of pain, 

Nor find a cause to weep : 
If dying be to gain all this, 

To lose naught but the breath 
That binds to mortal life, — oh, what 

Has man to fear from Death ? 



136 



GHOSTS OF THE HEART. 

In each man's heart a phantom dwells, 

There darkly comes and goes, 
Of her who should have blessed his life, 

But brought him only woes. 

Sometimes he seems to feel the clasp 

Of shadowy jewelled fingers ; 
Sometimes a sweet, angelic face 

Within his memory lingers. 

Dark thoughts may shroud the ghostly form 

And hide her like a pall, 
But once he thought her smiling face 

The fairest face of all. 

No matter when their pathways crossed, 

Fair May or bleak December, 
That woman rules his life the most 

Whom he must thus remember. 



137 



HEARTS. 

They played a game the other night, 

In which I had a part ; 
A game in which that person wins 

Who does not take a heart. 

I nearly took them all, and lost 
The game, of course, but — well, 

Now, who could win a game of Hearts 
Against a girl like Belle ? 

And though she plays as good a game 
Of Hearts as well could be, 

She also lost, that night, because 
She won my heart from me. 



138 



RHYME AND REASON. 

I 'll ne'er be slave to any, 
I '11 bow the knee to none ; 

In faith, I love too many, 
To bind myself to one. 

For faces made for smiling, 
Will often wear a frown ; 

And blue eyes, though beguiling,, 
Are not more so than brown. 

So when one maiden chances 
To frown, I '11 seek the while 

Some other maiden's glances, 
Until she choose to smile. 

But if mayhap I marry, 
And she be frowning then, 

With her I have to tarry 
Until she smiles again. 



139 



A THANKSGIVING RHYME. 

Oh, Thanksgiving Day is coming, 

But unthankful is the writer 
Who is penning stories on it, 

Or is forced to be inditer 
Of a gobble-gobble sonnet 

To the turkey, and to greet him 
With a seasonable epic 

Ere we season him and eat him. 

For it 's not an easy matter 

Writing rhythmic rhymes to order, 
But the poet never quibbles, 

For a poet can't afford a 
Life in which he only scribbles. 

Has he turkey, work must bring him ; 
But I 'd rather be the turkey 

Than the poet who must sing him. 



140 



AN IDYL OF SUMMER. 

All Summer she threw her 
Own charm on the shore, 

But the ocean that knew her 
Now knows her no more. 

As the belle of the ball, now„ 
She whirls in the waltz ; 

Who would not risk all now ? 
She ne'er can be false. 

For the love of the Summer 
Burns true in her heart, 

And I ne'er shall part from her 
Till death do us part. 



141 



A TYPE. 

He was faultless in dress, and was dapper and small ; 

With his manners the girls were quite struck ; 
He was friendly on very short notice, with all, 

And he had the most wonderful luck. 

On the races it never had failed him, he said. 

He won seven hundred, or eight, 
On a horse that the rest of the people thought " dead," 

But he backed him at 10 to i straight. 

With winnings at poker his pockets were stored — 

His luck made him certain to win, 
And he always had all of the chips on the board 

When the time came at last to cash in. 

Or he just took a flyer in C. B. & Q.— 

He often made turns on the Street, 
And was more than successful, or so he told you, 

On Chicago's last corner in wheat. 

He may have been truthful — be that as it might, 

He was most unaccountably floored 
When his landlady asked him, on Saturday night, 

For a ten-dollar bill for his board. 



142 



CINDERELLA. 

She claims the sweetest songs I sing, 

In every kind of metre : 
They flow like music from my heart, 

That trembles when I greet her. 

One charm she has, too slight to catch 

In rhymes however airy, 
And much I fear 't was rifled from 

Some poor unlucky fairy. 

And so I proudly sing the praise 

Of all her other graces, 
But leave unsung the little feet 

That hide beneath her laces. 

For though of nothing could I write 
That 's daintier or sweeter, 

They never could fill any verse, 
However short its metre. 

xo 



143 



A SPRING BLOSSOM. 

Though Southern suns are kind, 1 1 know, 
I never should suppose 

So early in the Spring could blow- 
So sweet a Texas rose. 

May you find this new world a place 

Of beauty everywhere, 
And may you grow to every grace — 

Be gentle, good, and fair. 

Gallant is every Southern son ; 

But though they 're brave and true, 
I hope that I, a Northern one, 

May favor find with you. 



144 



METEMPSYCHOSIS. 

I know I 've lived before : at times 
Come gleams of that existence, 

Like distant bells, in broken chimes, 
With sweet and strange persistence. 

Half-glimpses of a girl I knew 

Are visions that are strongest, 
And waken memories fond and true, 

That stay with me the longest. 

I cannot tell how long ago 

It is since first I met her 
In stately minuet and slow — 

But I can ne'er forget her. 

And though these nineteenth-century days 
Bring happy scenes before me, 

At times I walk in other ways, 

And their old spell comes o'er me. 
145 



I46 METEMPSYCHOSIS 

I seem to wrap her in her cloak, 
With its pure swan's-down lining , 

I know that when of love I spoke 
She laughed at all my pining. 

I wrote her sonnets by the yard, 
With Cupid as my tutor ; 

Alas, she scorned the humble bard, 
To wed a princely suitor. 

To-night I Ve met her here, the same 
As then, in that cotillion ! 

And though she bears a different name, 
I 'd know her in a million. 

Again the love that claimed my rhymes, 
Through all my soul is stealing ; 

Again, as in long vanished times, 
At her dear feet I 'm kneeling. 

I love her as I loved her then — 
And, by the great Lord Harry ! 

No princes need apply again : 
For that 's the girl I '11 marry ! 



A LAWYER'S BRIEF. 

When dying men, in drawing wills, 

Their chattels to convey, 
Omit some words, the law ofttimes 

Implies what they would say. 

If, then, in giving you my love, 
Some words are lacking, still 

It should be given due effect, 
According to the will. 

When in the law some solemn act 

A man intends to do, 
He stamps the paper with his seal ; 

And so, when I to you 

Words cannot write, you still may know 

All that I really feel, 
By thinking of that point of law, 

And looking at this seal. 



i47 



A LITERARY HISTORY. 

One day I wrote a little skit, 

In rather clever verse, 
In hopes a Life of rhyme and wit 

Would help to fill my purse. 

I prospered, but not growing rash 

Like many another youth, 
Who only writes for sordid cash, 

I also wrote for Truth. 

And then, much like some other men 
Who find themselves in luck, 

Love in light verse ran from my pen, 
Inspired, of course, by Puck. 

For him I wrote both night and day — 
The laughing, happy rogue — 

Love songs and sonnets light and gay, 
That soon were much in Vogue. 
148 



A CATASTROPHE 1 49 

Flushed with success, I looked on wine. 

When brought to justice, u Fudge ! " 
I only cried, and paid my fine 

With jokes that caught the J^udge. 

Then Harpers sung my songs, and now 

It is my fate to be 
A poet, critics must allow, 

Of this last Century. 



A CATASTROPHE. 

Confound that girl ! All my cigars 
She 's spilled upon the shelf, 
* And mixed up those I give my friends 
With those I smoke myself. 



A SEPTEMBER GREETING. 

A hearty welcome home again, 

Old friend from Morris Cove ; 
You don't know how we 've missed you here- 

We really have, by Jove ! 

I 've heard your name at all the clubs 

A dozen times a day ; 
Our suppers have n't seemed the same — 

At least to me— since May. 

But now you 're with us once again 

Our pleasures are complete. 
And so plump, too ! Why, I declare, 

You 're good enough to eat ! 



150 



MEMORIES. 

Though I have lived since last we met 
'Mid many climes and men, 

Set in a hazy frame of years 
I see your face again. 

When last we parted — how, you know, 

As I do far too well — 
I found in Europe what you made 

My life to me — a hell ! — 

Monaco, where they soon complete 
What girls like you Ve begun, 
^ And where on single turns of cards 
A fortune 's lost or won. 



And as I there watched wretched men 
Stake all on one last throw, 

Came back to me that other game 
We played so long ago ; 
151 



152 MEMORIES 

How in that game of love, where I 
Risked all for your dear sake, 

You played as carelessly as though 
My life were not the stake. 

And how with all your winning smiles — 
God ! what each one had cost ! — 

You calmly told me at the last 
The life I staked — was lost. 

I wonder if there never comes 

Across your careless life 
One thought of him who lost his all 

In that unequal strife ; 

If even you, so falsely cold, 

Can ever quite forget ; 
If you have never walked within 

The shadow of regret. 

But vain these mem'ries. Those who sleep 

Beneath the deepest sea 
Are not more dead to friends they loved 

Than you are dead to me. 



BETWEEN THE LINES. 

Her little note is folded neat, 
And dainty is the written sheet, 
With just before her name so sweet— 
" Sincerely yours." 

I know that you will coolly say 
She signs her letters in that way 
To friends (my rivals too) each day- 
" Sincerely yours." 

I know quite well the phrase is old, 
And rather formal, too, and cold, 
And yet I think the truth it told — 
" Sincerely yours." 

And it has given grace to me 
To ask my darling to agree 
Through all her life to really be 
Sincerely mine ! 



i53 



WHEN LOVE IS OLD. 

The World seems old and cold to Love, 
When Love is blithe and young ; 

It cannot share his careless mirth, 
And does not speak his tongue. 

But with the growth of added years 

Love gains in wisdom too, 
And takes no pleasure in his tricks, 

As once he used to do. 

He 's then content with simpler joys 
Than those his youth would find 

In making lovers seem untrue 
And maidens prove unkind. 

And in the calm, serene delights 

That happy years unfold, 
The World seems young and bright to Love, 

When Love himself is old. 



i54 



ABSENT AND PRESENT. 

When I am absent from her side 
My thoughts are most unkind, 

And jealousies, a cruel tide, 
Sweep in upon my mind. 

I envy every sunbeam then 
That dares to kiss her cheeks, 

The smile she gives it back again, 
And every word she speaks ; 

The lightest breath of summer winds 
That plays about her hair, 
; And every passing joy she finds 
Or knows when I 'm not there. 

But she has grace such thoughts to heal, 
For when my brow and hair 

The magic of her fingers feel, 
I bid farewell to care. 
i55 



556 AN UNWILLING SCHOLAR 

Her smile is sunshine, and her voice 
Like music to my ear ; 

My heart doth quicken and rejoice, 
To know that she is near. 

No mighty monarch on his throne 
Could find such joy and pride, 

As I, when she, my Queen, my own, 
Once more is by my side. 



AN UNWILLING SCHOLAR. 

O'er all her sisters fond and fair, 

That one I place above, 
And seek to find her everywhere, 

Who ne'er has learned to love. 

Though I am very much afraid, 

If such a girl there be, 
That when I chance to find the maid, 

She will not learn from me. 



FAREWELL TO YOUTH. 

Well, good-bye ! Farewell, my Youth ! 
We were happy friends, forsooth. 
Merry days we Ve spent together, 
In the springtime's sunny weather ; 
Laughed more often than we cried, 
Sang more often than we sighed ; 
Had our share of love and pleasure, 
Quaffed them from a brimming measure ; 
Shared them always, you and I. — 
Now you leave me. Well, good-bye ! 

I shall not forget you, Youth. 
Though your faith and hope and truth 
From my life you lightly sever, 
I shall mourn and miss you ever ; 
Still shall hold your memory dear 
Many a long and weary year. 
Parting words are quickly spoken ; 
Ties of years are slowly broken. 
Well we wove them, you and I. 
Once again, my Youth, good-bye ! 



i57 



A BIRTHDAY. 

Dear Mother, let us pause to-day, 

While time is flying fast, 
To drink a health to coming years, 

Remembrance to the past. 

Remembrance, though, to those alone 
That brought you happy days ; 

Forgetfulness to those of grief, 
In memory's tender haze — 

That half -forgetfulness that time 
Throws 'round life's sadder parts, — 

So that, although remembered, yet 
They do not break our hearts. 

And though the sands of life each year 

Run faster, may you find 
A thousand pleasures yet to come, 

And all your griefs behind : 
158 



A BIRTHDAY I 59 

Like to a traveller on a hill. 



The blue sky bending o'er him, 
With only half his journey done, 
The fairest stretched before him. 

And since we do not wish to think 
That each succeeding one 

Will steal away a happy year 
From those we Ve yet to run, 

We '11 not keep time as others do, 

But try a better way : 
In each bright day we '11 live a year, 

Count every year a day. 



THE LESSON OF THE YEARS. 

In youth we long for Time to run 

With flying feet life's pleasant ways ; 
No sooner does one day of bliss 
Pass into night's long loneliness, 
Than Youth, with his impatient sight, 
Is watching for the coming light 
Of other happy days. 

But when the years are slowly gone, 

And all the hopes they brought are dead, 
Ah, then it is we learn, at last, 
That all too soon the years have past, 
With all their thoughts and mem'ries sweety 
That all too quickly ran Time's feet, 
With softly falling tread. 



1 60 



AT THE PORTAL. 

Death has no terrors, fears, nor pains, 

From Life to bar my way : 
I go as from Siberian plains 

To gardens of Cathay. 



161 



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